Soon the three nieces made their proposed visit to McNutt, their idea being to pump that individual until he was dry of any information he might possess concerning the Wegg mystery. They tramped over to the village after breakfast one morning and found the agent seated on the porch before his little "office," by which name the front room of his cottage was dignified. He was dressed in faded overalls, a checked shirt and a broad-brimmed cheap straw hat. His "off foot," as he called it with grim humor, was painted green and his other foot was bare and might have been improved in color. Both these extremities rested on the rail of the porch, while McNutt smoked a corncob pipe and stared at his approaching visitors with his disconcerting, protruding eyes.
"Good morning, Mr. McNutt," said Louise, pleasantly. "We've come to see if you have any books to sell."
The agent drew a long breath. He had at first believed they had come to reproach him for his cruel deception; for although his conscience was wholly dormant, he had at times been a bit uneasy concerning his remarkable book trade.
"Uncle is making a collection of the 'Lives of the Saints.'" announced Patsy, demurely. "At present he has but three varieties of this work, one with several pages missing, another printed partly upside down, and a third with a broken corner. He is anxious to secure some further variations of the 'dee looks' Lives, if you can supply them."
Peggy's eyes couldn't stare any harder, so they just stared.
"I—I hain't got no more on hand," he stammered, fairly nonplussed by the remarkable statement.
"No more? Oh, how sad. How disappointed we are," said Beth.
"We were depending so much on you. Mr. McNutt," added Louise, in a tone of gentle reproach.
McNutt wiggled the toes of his good foot and regarded them reflectively. These city folks were surely the "easiest marks" he had ever come across.
"Ef ye could wait a few days," he began, hopefully, "I might——"